Truths
by TheGodmother2
Summary: Sequel to Confessions. The truth is revealed surrounding Nighthorse and Barlow. Will Walt and Vic survive? S4 speculation full of angst and drama.
1. Chapter 1

**SEQUEL TO CONFESSIONS**

"The doctors don't know when he'll wake up but he will." He says

"Do you want to stay here?"

"No." He looks at me, his eyes tired, lids down low, "I want to go home. I want you to come with me."

I study him, "Walt, do you think that's a good idea. I mean with all that's going on are you okay with that?"

"I need you with me." It's not a plea just a statement of fact.

I nod, "I dropped Lucian off at the home."

"He eat?" He asks casually like we aren't here in front of his wife's killer.

"Picked up some of Dorothy's take-out." I match his normality.

I look over at Barlow and feel guilty as Lucian's words echo in my head. If Barlow had loved his family I wouldn't be in the arms of the man I love. I wouldn't be here like this.

Walt pats my thigh, his signal for me to stand, and I do. Straightening out my clothes I ask, "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

He stands, gets his hat and coat, "You have groceries?" I ask

He shakes his head, "Well, then stay at my place. I'll whip up something."

His eyes answer and he looks over at Barlow. His face frowns and the sadness shows on the surface. I don't think he's been trying to hide it more like he can't really contain why we are here.

"Walt, I'll never be able to find the words to express how truly sorry I am."

His fingers thread through mine as his eyes bounce off of me we walk out, the Cumberland County reserve deputy is back in his spot and he stands when he sees Walt.

"Sheriff" he says, "calling it a night?"

"Call the station if anything happens." Walt grumbles, "and I mean anything."

"Yes, sir. Will do." He looks over at me, his eyes glancing down at my chest then back up and his fingers tip his hat as the smile returns to his face.

"Good night, ma'am." He says it's all warm and flirty.

"What time is your relief getting here?" I ask all serious not giving him any ground.

"I believe it's 0700 hours." He looks at his watch as if it will confirm shift change for him.

"Take out your cell phone I want to make sure you have the station number." He does and he does so I nod and turn around walking past Walt.

In one stride he's even with me, "Is the station number forwarded to your cell phone?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Good." He says.

We make it to the automatic sliding doors and Walt stops, "Was he flirting with you?"

"Yup." I say but don't say anything else

He looks at me and he's deciding. "I'll meet you at your place."

"Ok."

Walt turns to walk back into the hospital and I call him in my quiet yelling voice, "Walt."

"I'll see you in a few minutes." He says just under his breath. If this was just a week ago I would be a little panicked about it or mad about it but tonight standing here in the cool Wyoming night air I decide this will be a fight for another day.

I back into my driveway and unload my gear making sure I leave enough room for the Bronco and it dawns upon me that I don't live in the middle of nowhere but the center of town and this is probably a very bad idea.

"Damn it, Walt." Saying out loud at my frustration over his stubbornness for not joining the modern world and getting a cell phone so I call the hospital only to find out he's already gone.

"Of course." I mumble to myself as I face the front door having another dilemma about leaving the front door unlocked while I shower and survival instinct beats out sleepy little town instinct so I lock the door.

I jump into shorts and a tank and unlock the front door, peering out of the peep hole, but no Bronco out front and just for a moment I think I've been stood up and you know I don't want to admit to you that my heart stopped. It stopped for a second. I check my phone, no missed calls, no messages on my home phone either.

"Fuck it." I say out loud. "A girl's gotta eat."

I clean the salad greens first and slice yellow squash only to realize I don't have any meat so I dice some zucchini and start the water for some black rice. Rice I have to order off the internet because the local grocer thought I made up an entirely new food group when I asked for it.

Ten minutes into the rice cooking I hear a soft knock on the door and I turn as the door slowly opens, the familiar chocolate brown hat breaks the plane, and his voice fills the air, "I tried the knob and it opened."

"I left it unlocked for you." I say and turn to see him holding a simple green ivy plant.

His voice is a little shaky, "I went back inside to get you this because I knew the regular florist was closed." I walk over to him as he drops a small bag on the floor and hands me the plant.

He points to the plant, "I wanted to get something that's living." He clears his throat, "You know sorta symbolic."

I put the plant down on the table and reach up on my tip toes and kiss his lips, "Thank you."

Turning back toward the table, "I have something for you, too."

I place the key in his hand, "With everything going on I haven't given this to you, but it's yours if you want it."

He kisses my hand and then kisses my lips. "Thank you." He says, "and I promise not to take advantage either."

I smile remembering my words and watch him pull the key onto his key ring.

"So does this mean you are good with Durant knowing you spent the night here?" Referring to the Bronco parked in the driveway."

"Yup" He says and I smile.

"Are you?" His eyebrows rise as he asks as if he may be worried about my response.

I just nod saying, "Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes if you want to take a quick shower."

He dashes upstairs without another word and I light the three candles on the table, set the table, in time for him to walk down the stairs in a worn soft grey t-shirt with Broncos super faded across his chest and an equally worn pair of black basketball shorts.

"I can't believe you own basketball shorts." I say with a smile.

"What? Really? I play too you know." He sits down at the table and rubs his hands together like he's happy to see the feast. His hair is all wet and all mussed from the towel he ran through it and that coupled with his clean soapy smell make me want to skip dinner and have him instead but I contain myself and instead apologize for not having any meat for dinner.

"It's ok it's not like it's going to kill me. If anything you are keeping me alive." He says as he chews then he looks up and he's all sincere and serious, "You are keeping me alive in more ways than one, Vic."

"You have a part to play in that you know." I put my fork down and am equally serious, "We have to be in this together."

"We are."

"Walt, I have something I need to tell you."

He puts his fork down and turns toward me, his legs open in a perfect V, his hand resting in his lap.

"What's wrong?" He asks

"I can't help but feel guilty about us, about this." I say and I feel emotional but not like crying it just feels real, "If Barlow wasn't an evil bastard there's a chance that Martha."

He cuts me off and takes my hand, "Vic, Martha had stage four cancer she would have been gone."

His head hangs down and he looks back up at me, "Sitting in the room with him a lot of things swirled through my head. So many questions I have and part of me is afraid of the answers and if they will be the truth or not but the one truth I have is that you and me are right together."

He looks into my eyes and doesn't look away.

"That you and me would be sitting here in your house on this night eating a meatless dinner and that I'm good with that. I'm happy with you, Vic and it's not because I need you to save me, though I suspect you have. The truth is I need you just as much as I love you'."

"Come over here and kiss me."

He gets up and then gets on his knees in front of me, his hand behind my head as I lean down to meet him and he's gentle exploring me like it's the first time. He takes my bottom lip in his mouth and slowly lets it out and it's surprising and it's hot at the same time."

"Let's finish dinner." He says. "I'm hungry."

"Me, too." We finish dinner and go upstairs to my bedroom.

He peels off his t-shirt and his shorts and he stands before me completely nude and completely beautiful. I can't help but look and I sigh without realizing it and he smiles and I blush still not used to the fact that he's mine.

I shed my clothes and pull back the sheets and he's looking at me.

"You're beautiful. You know that." He says but it's not a come on it's like he's being observant.

"You are too." I say just repeating a factual statement.

We climb into bed and I decide that I will worry about how I feel about him in the same bed I shared with Sean tomorrow because tonight I want to sleep in my lover's arms and not worry about anyone or anything because as much as I trust this, and love him, my truth is that I know hell is waiting.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I don't know when the next chapters will be produced but they will...eventually**_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Walter." The unlit pipe hangs from his chapped lips, lips surrounded by a well-manicured salt and pepper beard. He stands as if greeting royalty and extends his long grainy fingers, "Sorry for the circumstances." He says and keeps his hand, "I'm sorry for your loss young man."

Walt pauses for a moment, maintaining his hold, "Thank you, your Honor."

The two men break hold and Judge Thompson looks down and back up, patting his left coat pocket looking for his eternally lost matches. He opens the same lean hand and motions of us to sit, "Deputy Moretti, have a seat, please."

I do, sitting in the worn wooden chair next to Walt, and for the first time look at the yellowing framed parchment papers displaying the refined credentials of a distinguished man.

"Obviously, I read over the affidavits for the original search warrants before I signed them and I was quite disturbed, Walt, I have to tell ya but," he pauses and folds his hands together on his desk and leans forward like he's telling a campfire story and we just hear about the monster coming to get us, "son, this is bigger than us. It's bigger than Durant or Absaroka County."

Walt does his thinking before talking routine and says all measured, "You scared, Pete?"

"What reasonable man wouldn't be?"

"You saying I'm not reasonable?"

"No, but you may be influenced by your." He waits a beat, "By your emotions."

I'm feeling uncomfortable and am trying to plot an exit strategy without being disrespectful. I look over at Walt, his hands are gently resting on this thighs, his fingers wrapped around his jeans, his jaw set and I notice how classic and strong his profile is and how handsome he is and how he's mine and I feel a little tormented for thinking these thoughts at the most inappropriate times.

"This is our hometown, Pete. You telling me you don't care?"

"Of course, I do but this is highly unusual and I would be remise in not taking the necessary precautions. After all, we wouldn't want the appellate court to overturn any decisions made here now would we?"

"Of course, not." His hands rub up and down his powerful legs and I fold my hands in my lap.

"I'm pretty sure the FBI doesn't have an emotional investment in Walt or this town, sir." It's out before I can stop it or think about it and I know it's a mistake. "The fact that he hasn't gone on a rampage or shot anyone let alone killed them is somewhat of a miracle." Then I do the unthinkable and use air quotes, "So, while I respect you wanting to watch out for Walt, I don't think you need to worry about his emotions."

Walt's lips are pursed, his hands have stopped moving, and he's looking at me but I can't read his face and it scares me a bit.

"Well, now Deputy Moretti," he says kinda slow like I'm a little slow, "I can appreciate you defending your boss." His voice sounds like the Pepperidge Farms old man and I expect him to offer me a Milano cookie and he looks over to Walt, "Perhaps, the Sheriff and I should speak privately."

I stand before he finishes his sentence sufficiently chastised and equally embarrassed. I turn to move past Walt and before I take a second step, with my back facing the judge, Walt's hand takes mine and it's gentle, "Anything you can say to me, Peter, you can say to Vic. She's very much a part of all of this."

That familiar lump is back in my throat. It's as unexpected as Walt's admission.

I take possession of my hand and turn around facing the judge and summon a soft voice, "It's my home, too, sir."

He studies me and then Walt, repositions his pipe, and strikes a match on the edge of his desk lighting it.

"I see." He says his eyes follow the flame, his lips form a perfect o as he blows out the match and his eyes rise to meet mine.

"Since Connally is still unconscious and still hospitalized you can file on behalf of the state by way of complaint. His custody status will remain the same. I don't see the Feds taking jurisdiction but that may be to your benefit so think about it. Either way, he's not going anywhere."

He intertwines his fingers again and his words seep out with the smoke, "I'll put in a call to Cheyenne offering them local cooperation and assistance. The Connolly name is synonymous with Wyoming whether that's right or wrong we have to live with the repercussion that will come to bear on all of us."

"That's never far from my mind." Walt says

The judge stands and Walt offers his hand, "Longmire is a name that is synonymous with our great state. Keep that in mind, too."

Walt nods and I wait for him by the private door, "Deputy Moretti."

"Sir." I nod and acknowledge him remaining respectful as I walk out into the back hallway, down the hall and onto the sidewalk toward the street.

"Hey." He says

I stop and look at him.

"What's up?" He asks

"Nothing, Walt. I'm just a little embarrassed for breaking my foot off in the judge's ass you know. I gotta keep my mouth shut."

I look down and back up at him.

"I don't want you upset with me."

I look up to find his lips pursed again, and he's looking off to the side, then back at me with his hands on his hips. He's a respectable distance away from me.

"I'm not upset." He says and he's looking at me.

"You're not?"

"No. You're kinda cute when you're mad." He says without a smile and his eyes are all smoky and it gets serious way too fast and he steps just a little closer to me but not too close.

"I've just never heard you say it before?" He says and he looks the other direction down the sidewalk.

"Say what?" I ask because I honestly don't know what he's talking about.

"That this was your home." His voice ebbs up a little and I'm starting to freak the fuck out.

I can feel my ears get hot, "It is."

"So you like it here, now." He really wants to know

"It's more like I like you."

He nods and chews his bottom lip for a moment like he's thinking then he looks past me, across the street, then back at me.

"But I figured since we met with Bob you know I need to get used to the idea." I tell him.

"You haven't mentioned it since." He looks hurt and I hate that.

"Well, Walt, what exactly am I supposed to say?" I'm being defensive and I hate that too.

"Say what you want." He says so plainly and so quietly.

He looks back up the sidewalk like he's looking for someone and he steps a little closer and I'm staring into his brilliant blue eyes.

His finger lands on my belt buckle for just a second and he takes it away.

"I think about what I want more often than I should really admit, Walt. I feel guilty about what I want most of the time like I don't deserve it."

He tilts his head to the side like he understands me and is confused by me all at the same time and the edges of his mouth turn up just a bit. He looks to the other side of the street then back at me.

"What the fuck are you looking for?"

He smiles and it's sexy and it's warm.

"What you said in there." He throws his thumb over his shoulder.

"Ah, I see." I say and I look at him, "You can't kiss me on the sidewalk, Walt."

"I know and it's making me a little bit crazy here."

"Let's go eat." I say trying to distract him.

"Only if you tell me what you want."

"That's conversation best served cold."

"We need to have it, Vic." He's serious again, "We need to have it now." He looks up toward the sky and back down, his hands on his hips, in lawman pose.

His eyes meet mine, "I don't want to get lost in the storm," and I realize he's in the same place with me. I know but I don't know and that's what makes me worry.

"Which animal?" I ask

"Huh?"

"The Bee or the Pony?" I say

"Pony. I gotta talk to Henry."


	3. Chapter 3

Henry and Walt have a private conversation in the Pony's office after breakfast while Ruby catches me up on the latest non-significant crimes in the county on the phone. The door opens from the back office and their faces are solemn.

"Is the bromance over?" I ask when I see them.

"I am afraid not but if you are open for sharing I will make room for you." Henry says without a smile but it does not last long and I smile back at him. He walks closer and kisses my cheek. He's never done that before.

"I hope he is as good for you as you are for him."

"You don't sound optimistic."

"We were discussing other things."

"Glad to know I'm not the topic of back office conversation."

"Actually, you are not." He looks over at Walt and back over at me, "He tells me things a brother should but nothing more."

"Well I never figured him to be a chatter box."

Henry smiles again, "I will leave you to him."

"Thanks, Henry and thanks for breakfast."

I walk over to Walt, "You get what you came for?"

"Partly." He nods and as we hit the parking lot and he stops dead in his tracks, "Listen, Vic, I don't want to force you, I mean pressure you to do anything you aren't up to doing, with me, I mean." His hands are talking with his mouth and his eyes are sincere. "And I feel like I'm doing that." He says all soft and shaded.

I move toward my truck and he stands there looking at me as I lean against the door frame.

"I don't want to hurt you. I never want that." and I mean it.

"Just say it." His face is blank as he processes this exchange.

My arms fold across my chest, "The truth is, Walt, I can't ever see myself living in the same house Martha lived in. She's so much a part of you and I understand that but I don't want to be in the same space, the same house, I just can't do it and I know that makes me chicken shit but it's my truth, Walt."

It's out and I feel equal parts relieved and bitch.

He looks over his shoulder, his jaw twitches the way it does, and he looks back at me. His eyes are full but not sad.

He doesn't say anything he just looks at me as my fingers trace the back of his hand.

"Look this isn't the place." I say and he looks down wrapping his thumb around my finger.

"Maybe we should just forget about it." He smiles when he says it but he doesn't mean it and this is the shit that I hate but that I knew was coming.

I look at him and I'm feeling like shit and I think I shouldn't feel like shit for telling him how I feel and I don't think he's trying to hurt me it just comes out this way because we are both fucked up emotionally and I know he has to be smart enough to know it.

"I need to get back to the station for Nighthorse's interview." I say to completely redirect and refocus but it's a mistake and I know it the moment it comes out because Nighthorse is part of the reason he's in so much pain and I wonder if subconsciously I say it to hurt him but I quickly realize I didn't I really wanted to redirect his pain and honestly Nighthorse is a big part of why I can't live in her house. Why her husband is standing in front of me wounded and broken.

He lets go of my hand and I don't know it's like he just let go of me and the wall is up and it's high and right now its impenetrable and this is how our shit gets twisted and how it will always play out and right now sitting in my truck leaving him standing in the parking lot I think how much I love him but the things I love about him are also the things that make me not like him sometimes and that makes me really fucked up.

As the road passes by me, trees ticking away with the speed limit, I know this is what I've feared all along that there's retribution to be paid and this hell that I am in is of my own doing.

When I pull into the station the FBI contingency is already there and I meet Super Sexy in the lobby where she is sitting with Ferg and Ruby.

"Hey, Hayden."

"Hey, Moretti."

"You ready to run this thing?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Where's your boss?"

"Should be pulling up anytime now."

"I'm sure this isn't easy for him. I give him cred though for even being here." She says in a reverent tone.

I respond with cursory politeness because I can't verbalize right now and I can't think because it's all emotional and it's all sitting there just below the surface about to spill.

"We've got Walt's office all wired. The D.A. and the Assistant US Attorney already worked it all out." Ferg says and he looks around a little overwhelmed but very much in charge. He leans into me, "I just wish Walt would get here."

I'm sick to my stomach.

"We all felt you were the best choice to run the interview Vic." Hayden adds all nonchalant.

"We?"

"Yeah, Steve and Walt talked about it and I concur. You're the best to run the interview. You know Nighthorse but you are relatively divested from the casino and Wyoming for that matter so we figure with your homicide background in Philadelphia it's pretty obvious."

I should feel better. I should feel complimented but I don't I feel worse because I want to lay down on the floor in the middle of the office and throw up. My timing has pretty much always sucked but this time, this time, I think I hit the motherlode. It's in the middle of my self-imposed guilt trip about something I should not feel guilty about that I hear the familiar thud of his ropers on the wooden floor behind me.

Looking up, his figure cuts slightly taller than usual, his hat down lower, the collar of his jacket pulled up as if it were stormy outside. He's eerily quiet as he surveys the office. He says a casual, "mornin'," to the general population that has invaded his department.

He walks straight into his office but he notices the furniture changed just a bit and he turns to no one in general, "We ready?"

Hayden walks into his doorway, "Sheriff, I was just briefing Moretti we will be ready in about ten minutes. Nighthorse's lawyer is on her way."

I can see Walt nodding his head and while they are probably categorizing the hardened steeled version of Walt as the consummate professional, the stuff legends are made of; I see the man I deeply care about but maybe not the man I can spend the rest of my life with and that makes me sad because life really isn't a fairy tale it's more like a fucked up demented drama written in hieroglyphics whose walls are constantly caving in.

He looks past me, turns around hangs up his coat and his hat, and straightens out his hair.

Hayden looks at me, "You ready? You need any of my notes? We will be set up over here and monitoring the interview from out here since we don't have two-way glass here." She's all business and doesn't have a clue that she is standing in the middle of this emotional hurricane.

My finger is up and pointing on its own without a conscious thought from me, "Give me a minute."

I walk into Walt's office and close the door, gently, behind me. He doesn't even turn around, "Not now." He says in serious sheriff mode.

I walk to the private door because I don't know what's wired and if it's live.

"Walt." I say

"Not now." He means it.

I don't move and eventually he looks up.

I motion for him to come over to me but he stands there and looks at me and he's mad and he's hurt and he's had enough of me.

"I want you in my ear during the interview." I say because well it's ok if they hear that.

"What?" He wasn't expecting that and it throws him.

"I'm going to wear an earpiece and I want you in my ear in case I miss anything I want you to tell me."

He cants his head to the side for just a second like he's picking up on the soft subtle tones.

I motion again for him to walk toward me and this time he does and we step into the private hallway and I'm pretty sure it's safe out here. I point up, "Your office is wired." I say casually as if to confirm what he should already know.

My arms are folded across my chest as I look into his eyes which are all dark and clouded over and the whites are red like he's been crying and I can't think about that right now because that will make me cry so I chalk it up to intentisty.

"Listen, I have to tell you something, Walt."

"Now really isn't the time, Vic." He's all stern and hard. He's not fucking around.

"Walt." I touch his chest for a second to get his attention.

I fold my arms back up to my chest because I'm serious too and I take a deep breath and tell him, "Look, I know you're upset right now."

I stop and look into his eyes, "But I need you to know I am going to do the best I can. I can't have you doubting that I am going to give anything less than my best for Martha."

"I don't doubt that, Vic." His face is still hard like he's really trying to keep his shit together because he has too and that makes me try harder.

"Ok, so long as you know that's all that's important right now."

I step to go past him but he doesn't move but he doesn't touch me either.

"Thank you." That's all he says and lets me walk by him but when I open the door he puts his hand above me on the edge of the door and closes it back shut.

Now I'm trapped between the door and him but he still doesn't touch me. He still doesn't say anything.

"The key is the money. Concentrate on the transfers." He says to my back.

"Watergate 101" I say to the door.

"It's just a house, Vic."

"It's more than that, Walt."

"I know."

"I can't share you. I won't share you."

"You don't"

"But I will if we stay."

"I know"

"I can't ask you to leave"

"You aren't"

"Aren't I?"

"Maybe we should take some time off?"

It hurts when he says it like he punched me in the kidneys.

"I think you're right." I know he's right I just didn't have the courage to get there and say it.

"Can we talk about it later?"

"We need to."

"I need you to focus."

"I will." He breathes deep like it's the first time he's come up for air all morning.

"I am focusing." He says into my neck and any other time I would think it was foreplay but now I know it's because he can't face me.

"ok." I say to the door not willing to face him.

"You ok?" He asks but he's asking about something else

"I will be."

"Ok." He says

And he moves his hand from the door, the door I was talking to this whole time and I open it stepping forward into his office with confidence that I'm a good cop and hoping that when this interview is over I will be an even better woman for it.


	4. Chapter 4

There's a stir and commotion as Nighthorse's lawyer makes her presence known. Walt reaches the door and turns back at me, his lips pursed, he nods his head. His face is forced steel but his eyes are soft and full. He trusts me. This trust is deeper than knowing I will step in front of a bullet for him it is subcutaneous and genuine and true it's that surefootedness that transcends friendship and even family and I feel it for him too and that's the part that makes all of this shit so untimely and so fucking hard.

I nod back thinking that we've messed up but that I can't think about that right now and he's disappears through the door. I take a deep breath and steady myself as past cases run through my memory intertwined with images of Walt, the grief, the angst, the laughs, the love and the understanding of what he feels for her. I need that now, to channel that love so I can stay on track. I mold the earpiece in my ear and Walt does the radio five count in my ear and his voice sounds sure and gentle in my head. I give the thumbs up on the sound check.

Jacob shuffles in, not quite as indignant as the past, but not quite humbled by his position or his condition. He sits upon my direction and his lawyer does the same. She smiles and introduces herself and asks about my nose. She's polite though and sincere in her inquiry.

"I'm fine." I say, "Thank you for asking." I add returning the professionalism because I think I am a professional.

The DA and US Attorney sit to her left. Everyone has their place and after the cursory introductions I begin with the basic questions of how Nighthorse met Barlow Connally in the first place, how he came to Wyoming, his association with Four Arrows and after an hour or so and a frosty diet Coke, his defenses down, I ask the question that will determine our destination.

"Why did Connally Construction transfer $50,000 into the business account of Big Pines Timber in 2010 but there isn't a record of any work or lumber delivery for the same fiscal year."

"It was payment. Payment for the use of one of my soldiers. My best dog solider. It was for David Ridges." He says in his measured monotone voice.

"What for?"

"I did not ask specifics. I did not want to know."

"Do you know now?"

"Yes."

"What was it for?" I see that he is like all suspects. You have to ask the same question more than once to get the answer and hopefully it is a truthful answer.

He looks to his lawyer who nods.

"It was for David to travel to Denver and make certain arrangements."

I look and don't say a word. I wait.

"Connally had expressed interest in his son becoming Sheriff and like everyone in the community new that Martha Longmire was sick. Connally arranged for the Longmires to be surveilled and Ridges followed them to Denver. It wasn't exactly a secret she was in chemotherapy treatment there."

"You said he followed them to Denver."

"Yes."

"Them?" I ask

"Yes, Walt and Martha." I don't want to give away the deck so I let him play the cards, for now, my earpiece remains silent.

"Then what happened."

"I can only tell you what was told to me because I was not there."

"Tell me, then."

He looks to his lawyer who nods again.

"David was to kill both Martha and Walt and make it look like a robbery but obviously that is not what happened."

"Who told you what happened?"

"David." He pauses and looks out of the window, "Eventually."

Again, I wait.

"David told me he found Miller Beck in a local bar and paid him $800.00 to kill them. He drove him to the hotel and pointed them out on the sidewalk. But he gave him only $100.00 up front and told him he would give him the rest when it was done."

Walt's voice comes in as a whisper. "They only found $700.00 on Beck's body."

"When was this?" I ask

"The night before. Apparently, when the meth head went back he watched and waited but Walt never showed up so he stabbed Martha and took her purse to make it look like a robbery."

"Why didn't David do it himself?"

"Very simple. He did not want to get caught."

"But he killed Beck?"

Nighthorse pauses again; his words measured again, "He did because the opportunity presented itself."

"I need you to explain."

"Apparently, your boss did not react well to his wife dying."

"Her murder you mean."

He is careful deal or no deal. "From what I heard, your boss tore through Denver and found Beck and confronted him but came out on the losing end. David told Barlow and Barlow gave the green light and the promise of $250,000 to frame Walt for Beck's murder. He decided not to kill Walt because it would look to suspicious. First Martha then Walt. It would be obvious."

"So, Ridges killed Beck on Barlow's orders?"

"Yes."

"And you?"

"And me, what?"

"Were you part of the orders?"

"No, I was told afterward, after David decided to fake his death when Walt and Branch were closing in."

"Did Barlow pay him?"

"Only $100,000 and promised the rest when Walt was convicted and Branch became sheriff."

"Why didn't he just leave?"

"That was the plan but David." He pauses, "He believed he was invincible and he moved deeper and deeper to the other side."

"When did David meet up with Beck again?"

"A few nights later, I believe, he put $700.00 in Beck's pocket hoping the police would put two and two together."

"Why didn't you ever come forward?"

He looks down and then back up at me, "This, this is our world Deputy Moretti and it seems like everything to us but it is not. This is bigger than us. It is bigger than you can imagine and those external forces dictate local actions including my own."

I decide this is a deflection and I move on, follow the money, "What were the series of $100,000 deposits, Jacob?"

"One was for Ridges' payment."

"That one is accounted for."

"There is another for Branch's election fund."

"Barlow gave you $100,000 to fund Branch's campaign why didn't he just do it directly?"

"He wanted to give Branch the illusion he was his own man."

"Why the land purchases?"

"Expansion and growth."

"For?"

"Future economic development independent of Four Arrows. We were all poised for wealth. Generational wealth which would free us from the ties that bind us. The history that binds us. Cassandra understood this."

"So, Cassandra was your friend."

"The better word is ally."

"Why, Jacob, why her?"

"She had the maps and she knew where the preverbal bodies were buried. Where the ancient lands were and were we could dig. She was the ace in my sleeve that could keep Barlow at bay and slow him down when needed."

"So you never trusted him?"

"No."

"Why do business with him?"

"Necessary evil."

"But you trusted him enough to plot murder."

He gets upset at this.

"No, I did not plot murder with him." His voice elevates, his eyes narrow, "I found out after it happened. I cannot trust a man that turns on his own."

"Turns on his own?"

"You may not find any honor in what I do but I am trying to make amends for my people. I would never murder them. Kill a woman for gain. There is no honor in that, none."

Walt says, "Nighthorse isn't Cheyenne why all this talk of honor."

"You're not Cheyenne are you?" I ask but I don't accuse him.

"I understand the plight of the marginalized." He says.

"So you did the right thing? Is that what you're saying?"

"The necessary thing."

He looks back over to his lawyer and she looks at him then at me.

"What's bigger than you, Jacob?"

"What?"

"What's bigger than you?"

"Ah, that is the question isn't it?"

I wait and I listen.

"Are you going to answer?"

He stares at me like he is deciding and he blinks, for a split second I think he's going to tell me but his attorney puts her hand on his forearm and he snaps back, back into his head and into silence. She looks over to the crowd of lawyers and says, "Sorry, gentlemen but this is not part of the agreement."

"Deputy Moretti would you excuse us for a moment, please?" The D.A. says and my stomach knots, like I let him down, like I didn't get enough.

I open the door and Ferg is standing next to my desk, his lips pursed his hair a little mussed like he's been running his fingers through it. Ruby turns to look at me, her face bearing the grief that I can only imagine and she walks towards me, I met her halfway, and she puts her soft fingers on my hand but she doesn't say anything she just looks at me like she can't form any words.

I look past her towards the door, then over to the reading room but the door is open and I realize he's gone. Gone.

It sounds like he's speaking from across the street but he's standing next to me, "Vic, you okay?"

I turn to see the round kind face looking back at me, "When did he leave?"

"Just before you came out."

"Was he mad?"

"He just up and left"

Ferg looks down and back up at me and he says kinda quiet like he's embarrassed, "He didn't say a word, Vic, just put the mic down and walked out."

"Ok." I say but it's not. He's not.


	5. Chapter 5

I wish I could tell you that I was sad that he was gone. I wasn't. I was relieved. I feel guilty about that but it's my truth. As much as it hurts we are supposed to be truthful, right? That's what we say isn't it? Honesty is the best policy. As honest as the day is long. It's all bullshit. Honesty kicks our ass.

By the end of the day Jacob Nighthorse had come clean. As clean as one could expect which means that the illusion of a higher power dictating the shots was just as elusive as the naked truth. In the end, I got what I came for. The pieces to Martha's murder were put neatly into place and fully implicated Barlow Connally. The rest will have to wait for now.

"The unit secretary will be on serious overtime tonight." Hayden says out loud to no one in particular.

"She hates it when we do this to her." A nameless suited agent responds to her and I think she must be his boss.

Super sexy smirks a bit and looks over at me and I can see her pause, her thoughts turning before she gets up, and I dread what she's going to say because really is it anything I need to hear.

"Vic, I know this isn't easy for you or any of you really."

I force my eyes upward but the words don't come out because I don't know what to say to that other than some snarky remark that will just piss her off and confirm my current fragile mental state.

"You know." She says, "We have to work with a lot of local agencies as the kinder gentler FBI." She pauses, "But you guys are the most professional local law enforcement agency I've ever dealt with and that's saying something."

I look at her, her perfect figure, her perfect hair, perfect nails and I realize she is being perfectly sincere.

"Thanks, Hayden."

I look up and meet her eyes and I don't find pity there but something I haven't seen in a really long time. I see admiration. It's the same look I used to get when I began my career. I got it because I broke the barriers, stomped on the stereotype, and reveled in my success but I'm not that woman anymore. I don't know where she went or when she left and some distant faded memory flashes of Walt looking at me the same way a way that Sean never did. His eyes shining playfully like he had a hidden punch line. The lines are blurred. I've missed her. I want her back. She would know what to do.

The station phone rings and my heart drops. I do the desperate stare like if I look at it long enough I will know who is calling without picking it up. Ruby left a couple of hours ago. She said she had to run errands but I think she just couldn't take it anymore and I didn't fight her leaving.

Ferg went looking for Walt. He told me he wasn't asking permission he was just telling me what he was going to do. You know, asserting his new found authority, but it's Ferg so he was sweet about it.

"Text me if you find him, Ferg."

"I will."

I check my phone for the thousandth time but there's nothing and then I do something that pisses me off. I plug in my phone even though it's at 86% because I don't want to take any chances on the battery. When did I lose control?

The phone is still ringing, not giving up, "Sheriff's Department." I answer.

There's nothing.

"Sheriff's Department." I say with all scope of authority.

It sounds like empty air but then I hear him and my heart beats a little too fast from the fear pulsing through it, "Can you come get me?" He says.

"Are you drunk?" I say

"No" He says, "but I can't make it back."

"Where are you?"

I ask because really I don't have a choice. It's one of those ethical dilemnas. One of those impossible scenario questions they cavalierly toss out in job interviews. You know those questions that are impossible to answer with honesty because you would never do what they want you to do. That's what's happening right now.

I send Ferg a text on my 88% charged phone, "He called. Come back. I'm going to get him."

Ferg replies, "Yup. Good."

That's it. That's all we say and we don't even say it. We don't have a discussion about our boss walking out. About our friend who is emotionally devastated. About the man I'm sleeping with being in crisis. We are all fucked up.

I can't trust Google maps on my iPhone because the cell coverage is spotty and it usually shows a dot in the middle of gray, like in the middle of no-fucking-where, when it actually does find where I'm looking for. I bought a refurbished Garmin off of Amazon for $28.77 and I keep it in my bag so Walt doesn't bust my balls for needing it. I plug it in the charger, mount it in the window, and search common place names.

 _Winston Peak_ it searches, the egg timer spinning, and the map plots turn by turn directions which in this case are one turn and a straight 74.6 miles.

My lights hit the Bronco, the driver door opens, and his long frame straightens as I kill the lights and coast to a stop.

His palm presses against the door like he's trying to be casual and remiss all at the same time and it looks wrong. He looks wrong.

"Hey." I say out of my open window.

His fingers rise up, hip high, and the corners of his perfectly shaped lips curl just a bit at the end like smiling probably hurts.

Stepping out of the truck, I do the cop thing, I don't notice the smell of alcohol, no blushing in his face or nose and he's not swaying. It's hard to see his eyes in the dark but they look weary. Just a little redness and I step into his space, still looking, and no nystagmus.

"You ok?"

He nods his head and he tries to smile again but it's obvious he can't and that makes me not smile.

"Thank you." He says and he slides his hands in his pockets.

"You're welcome." I say and I want to ask for what; the ride or the interrogation but at this point I don't actually want to know because I'm afraid of the answer.

We stand there like two lost souls avoiding each other in the moonlight.

"You seem like you can drive." I say because it's true.

"I can't."

"What's wrong with you?" I sound a lot nicer than you would think because I'm genuinely concerned at this point.

"Well."

He says, his hands out of his pocket but on his hips like he's embarrassed and mad and frustrated all at once.

"I don't have enough fuel to make it back and I didn't want to stop on the side of the road."

"Seriously, Walt." It's a mix of instant anger and fear.

He lifts his hat off of his head and wipes his forehead with this shirt sleeve but it's not hot and it dawns on me I've never seen him do that before. He repositions his hat, his head lifts a little, the way it does and he looks back at me then his eyes drift over my shoulder and back down to the ground again.

"Where the hell did you call me from?"

He points to the small wood cabin like structure that doubles as the welcome center.

"There's a pay phone just on the other side."

"You're shitting me?"

He still can't smile and shakes his head. This time he smacks his teeth like he does when he reaches a conclusion.

He turns and opens the back of the Bronco and pulls out one of those large old fashioned red metal gas cans. The paint is faded and it's mostly grey that shines through. He drops the can in the bed of the truck and the hollow metal thuds. He slides into the passenger side without saying a word.

After ten miles or so I say, "So what was your plan? Just drive until you couldn't drive anymore?"

"I didn't have a plan." He says all quiet like he's being introspective.

I think it's the truest thing he's ever said to me and I am not inclined to reply in kind so I don't as we inch into Pete's Quik Stop, the faded bucking bronco neon sign, barely hanging on to what little life is left in the tempered glass.

About half-way back he says, "Walking out. I'm not exactly sure I can explain that."

I look over and his profile is just as strong as I seem to remember when I first started noticing things like that about him.

He looks over at me and I look at him for just a split second and back at the road then back at him.

"It suddenly became." He drifts off and just as quickly he's back, "overwhelming."

I don't think about it. I just do it. I pull over to the side of the blacked out road and turn on the flashers.

"Are you going to be ok?" I say as I turn to face him, my knee on the seat and seat belt off.

"I should be asking you that?" He looks at me and his eyes don't stray this time. "I'm asking you that." He says.

"Not really."

It's dark and it's hard to see him fully but I know he's there because the pain is there and it radiates from him like a dim candle.

"I know I fucked up."

My eyebrows hike into my hairline. It's only the second swear I've ever heard him say and the first was after Cady was nearly killed.

My eyes are adjusting to the still blackness, his fingers fondle the side vent lock and he looks down and says, "I have always known my place. I've always known where I belonged, and what I'm supposed to do, and even who I'm supposed to love." I hear the click of his seat belt unlatching.

He pauses and takes a deep breath, his fingers stay fixed on the lock, and he turns and looks at me, "But it's not like that anymore. I'm not like that anymore."

"You're making all the wrong moves." I say because my entire life has been the wrong moves.

"It feels like it."

"You are."

It sounds bitchy but that's not what I meant. I reach over and touch his shoulder, "It's only because I recognize the symptoms." I add and it comes out the right way this time.

"I can't tell you what to do." I look out the window past his profile into the dark hole of the Wyoming night. "I'm a big part of your problem, Walt. I need to own that."

We are looking at each other now and it's almost like how it used to be you know before we started destroying each other.

"I haven't exactly made the right moves where you are concerned."

"What do you mean?" He honestly doesn't know.

"My husband divorced me and had you serve the papers, Walt." I'm straining to see past the deep navy color of his pupils. "We've never talked about that. That passive aggressive fucked up behavior that we both played into."

I sigh and my hand falls onto the space between us on the bench seat.

"I was latching on to whatever piece of normal I could get. I wanted you to want me so it's not like I stopped you even thought I knew you were incapable of being what I needed. I was too selfish to see it and too fucked up in the head to care, really."

His lips thin just a bit like they do when he is really trapped in his head and I think I've lost him.

"I wanted to kill them." His voice is an audible whisper.

"Them?"

"I wanted to kill all of them for what they did."

"Don't you think I understand that?" I whisper back and his stare cuts through the darkness seeking answers I haven't given him.

I never wanted to share this with him. I never wanted to think of it again but the memory lives with me and pays unexpected subconscious visits when I least expect it.

"In the basement. In the basement with Sean." I take a deep breath, close my eyes and will the words, "A body bag dropped and I thought it was you. I thought I had lost you. I thought you were dead and I freaked the fuck out."

The tears are there in the corner of my eyes because I've learned that I can't control that shit when I think about that night. I take another breath and my voice is steady.

"It still hurts when I think about it." I wipe my eye because I'm not going to cry.

His fingers cover mine and I don't move because I can't as my thumb wraps around his.

"I wasn't supposed to love you." He is super focused as I speak.

"So, I don't know what I would do if someone murdered you. I can't judge you, Walt, but I can be mad about your poor choices." I pause, "I can be really mad at mine. I know that for sure."

He squeezes my fingers, "I'm sorry, Vic."

"I'm sorry, too."

"I've loved you for a long time." He says and he's firm about it, "but I was wrong to love you."

"I was married." I offer as a way out for him.

"That's not what I mean."

My eyebrows go up again, "I was in love with both of you and when I realized I had to make a choice I did make the choice but those feelings don't disappear and I felt challenged and ashamed as a man, as a husband, as a father. I failed at all of them. I was failing as the Sheriff. I was managing by crisis. I am managing by crisis."

His hand covers mine completely, "After the funeral." His eyelids drop down, "After the funeral, I was afraid I would lose you. That you would leave because you didn't have any reason to stay."

He lifts our hands for a moment then plops them back down as he looks out of the front window then back at me, "Have I lost you?"

"Why didn't you ask me to wait. To stay for you?" I feel my head fall to the side.

"I didn't have a right to ask."

We sit like that for a few minutes absorbing all the things we never said but should have but you know that's how it is we never say what we feel we just act like idiots.

"I don't want to lose you." He moves his knee up on the seat and his hand traces my cheek, "What you did back there in the interview, Vic, that's something that will always be with me."

Then I see it, again. I see the admiration. I see the respect and I see the love.

"I don't know if the time will ever be right for us." I say it because it needs to be said since we are here doing this.

"We are going to make it through, Vic."

"I don't want it to be like this."

He looks down at the floorboard and back up at me searching my eyes.

"Neither do I."

And now it's out there. He can't take it back.

"I don't know how to fix it." His words are weak

"Just be my best friend, again. That's a good place to start."

His mouth edges up just a tiny bit, "The trouble is, Vic, your best friend is in love with you."


	6. Chapter 6

It took nearly a month, an extradition, and a return to Cheyenne for Hayden to call me.

"Hey Moretti, we've made the link to an organized crime connection with Nighthorse and Connally. We thought you may want a courtesy call and maybe want in on the investigation?"

"Fill me in.

"A few weeks in lock-up down here for Nighthorse's was all it took for his lawyer to get on the phone and modify Nighthorse's plea agreement. Turns out he's not so good with being a little fish in a big pond and he wants out of general population and into a Federal facility and who better to accommodate that need….."

Cutting her off I add, "Than the FBI."

"Exactly."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Road trip to Las Vegas to serve some warrants and hopefully get a flip. I figured you may be interested. It's Vegas after all."

"I'll check with Walt."

She clears her throat and her voice quiets like she doesn't want Walt to hear from 300 miles away, "Listen, Vic, I don't know how to say this without sounding completely insensitive, but we feel it is in the best interest of the case that he not be involved in any further investigation."

"Hayden they killed his wife."

"That's why. He's too close. We can't lose this on appeal let alone jeopardize a conviction in the first place and well let's be objective about this. The man whose wife was killed, was under investigation by the Denver police department, was involved in questionable activities in Colorado simply cannot be involved in any further investigation in the case. It gives the air of impropriety."

I know she's right and I know if this wasn't a one-horse town Walt never would have been involved from the start. I feel a sense of relief but it is quickly replaced with a tidal wave of sadness.

"I see. Can I get back with you?"

"I need to know soon. Pete has to sign off on the paperwork."

"Got it. I will be in touch."

"I'm sorry, Vic. Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"No, I'm glad you did."

"I figured you would want to be involved. This is a big case and we wouldn't be here if it weren't for your interview skills."

"Thanks, I think."

"It's a compliment, Moretti."

"Thanks, Hayden. I'll talk to you soon."

As I hang-up, my head collapses in my hands, my elbows on my desk. I think about going, about telling him, and I feel a wave of nausea creep into the pit of my stomach. This seems to be our truth, forever stymied by the past. After that night, we came clean with feelings, and it's been one step at a time. Walt has been spending his time from the station with Bob and Henry working on the cabin. Making it the way he envisioned. Knowing it's over is something for us to build on.

It took a couple of Sunday drives together to figure out neither of us was emotionally available, that's something I read on self-help blog, and we talked about it and we are trying to be two rational people but you know that shit is hard to do.

I fight desperately to be normal whatever normal is, at night I take long steamy showers, pour a glass of wine, the expensive stuff I never drank before, but figure what the hell. I plop on the couch with my bare feet on the coffee table trying to fit in the symbol of relaxation, mainly reading, one of the two magazines I subscribe to, and never read before. I read articles about the proper way to tease my eyebrows or how to tell my man is cheating. You know the insignificant bullshit that lulls us into the false belief that we aren't wasting our lives.

Most nights, my mind wanders to him like seeking out light in the middle of darkness and I want it to stop but I know it's a lost cause even as I try to override my thoughts of his hands roaming my body, seeking and knowing, all at the same time. The feel of him, the weight on my hips, and every night I force myself to snap out of it because I have to stop. I have to move forward.

 _Do my whiskers burn?_

 _A little_

He only asked me once and he's been clean shaven ever since. Still hopeful. I love him. It's my last thought as I drift asleep on the couch.

 _This, this is our world Deputy Moretti and it seems like everything to us but it is not. This is bigger than us._

Jacob's voice trails through my dreams and the words, the sounds, push me into consciousness. How do I tell him about Las Vegas without ruining what we are trying to build? How do I tell him it's not over, yet?

Last week, he took me trap shooting for the first time, just hanging out, best friends. That's what we are. Cady and Henry rounded out the foursome and for a moment I thought that if this was my forever I would be happy with it but then I see the sadness in his eyes, the lingering ghost that hasn't disappeared and I know she won't go away until this case is behind us and locked away, forever. We ate at the Pony that night and it was almost normal. Walt and Henry cleaned the shotguns in the back and Cady joined me for a beer which was more surprising than me agreeing to go trap shooting with them in the first place.

"How you doing, Vic?" She asked me taking a sip of her draft.

"Ok." I smile, "Just a little burnt from the sun today. What about you?" Remembering how she was afraid to tell Walt about Branch attacking her at the hospital and anchoring to the fact that of all people she called me to pick her up from Denver.

"Better. Much better." She says, her eyes don't waiver, "Dad told me all about the interview and it may sound weird coming from me Vic but I want to thank you. I know the case against Barlow wouldn't have stuck without that plea agreement and without you."

"I'm sorry about your mom, Cady."

"Thank you." She reaches out and touches my hand for just a moment.

On the drive to my place he says, "You look a little red. Too much sun?"

"I think so, shit." Looking at my shoulders and the pale white beneath my tank top strap.

"You remember your sunscreen?"

"Yeah."

"Next time use mine."

"You use sunscreen?" I ask because I am in complete disbelief.

"Of course, Vic." He smiles. I miss his smiles. "Zinc based SPF 50 covers both UV bands."

"Stop keeping that shit a secret." I play.

"Cady talked to me." He says suddenly and seriously.

"About me tagging along today?"

"Yup."

I sigh, "When did she do that we were all together today?"

"When you and Henry were playing darts."

"Is this my first and last trip?" I ask.

He looks over, the ambient light bouncing off his Roman features, "Why would you say that?"

"Cady isn't my biggest fan."

"She said you guys talked."

"A little bit."

"Well, things are ok on her front."

"You mean your daughter approves of me."

"I mean things are ok my daughter isn't suffering and you're a big part of the reason she's not."

"Oh." I think but don't say.

He backs into my driveway like he does every Sunday evening and opens my door as he does and I don't bother to argue anymore it's just who he is as walks me to the doorway.

This is where our good nights occur. A soft kiss on the cheek or a quick nip on the lips. Best friends with shared nitroglycerin between us.

I open the door, step inside, and turn around, as been our custom the past weeks. Tonight though, he doesn't acknowledge me. He doesn't say a word. He just looks at me, the ghost is gone, as he steps into my space facing me. His belt buckle presses against my belly button. He is intense and he's thinking. His fingers trace over the top of my ear and lightly onto my burned shoulder.

"You need to get some cream on this." His breath is warm next to my neck and he leans down and kisses my warm skin his hand wrapping around my waist just above the side of my jeans and the press of his palm, the firmness of his body, feels so good.

"Walt." I look straight ahead and speak into his chest.

"I'm right here." He's intense and he's hot, as in heat, pouring from his body.

"We need to talk about something."

His eyes don't move. They are vibrant and he's ready. He kisses my neck just below my ear. We haven't been here, like this, in weeks and it nearly consumes me.

"Walt."

"Yup." His lips trail to my collarbone.

"Walt." I put my hands on his chest and his eyes drown into mine.

"Hayden called me today."

His eyes remain warm, still ghost free, "She asked if I wanted to go to Las Vegas and help serve some warrants. They made an organized crime connection with Nighthorse."

His jaw clenches and his hand drops from my waist. I want him to protest. I want him to get angry but I don't know why but I do.

"When are you leaving?" He's stoic and businesslike which, I don't know, makes me feel worse.

"I'm not going."

His eyebrows rise.

My hand instantly finds his forearm, "They don't want you on the case because of obvious reasons."

His palms squeeze my shoulders, "Vic, they can't jeopardize the case. You know that." He says like he's trying to convince me.

"I want to stay here. I want to make peace with the ghosts that plague us. I don't need to go to Vegas to do that. I need to be here to do that."

"If we make peace. They will stay quiet." He says like he understands.

"Something like that." I say as I take his hand.

He leans in closer, inside the threshold, his lips sweep past mine, his eyes searing blue, "This is our truth, you know."

"I know." I say as I whisper in his ear,"The fact that I love you, that's the other part, don't forget that.

His long fingers trace my cheek, "I won't forget." He pauses, "I haven't forgotten."

For first time in weeks he kisses me and it's warm, it's welcoming and it's quiet.


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: As Longmire fans, I know we all want a happy ending and while I am not convinced the show will give us that I hope that season 4 moves us past the Martha saga and gives Walt the much needed closure his character needs so he can move forward. I'm not sure if I have accomplished what I wanted between Confessions and Truths but I hope you have enjoyed the ride._**

 ** _Lastly, thank you for those that consistently read my stories. It means a lot that you take the time to review and leave feedback._**

* * *

Winter rolled into Wyoming with the unpredictability of a temperamental bridegroom. It is fierce and fleeting.

"I think we should do it." He slips some eggs onto his wheat toast and makes a half-sandwich.

"Do what?" I say pouring entirely too much 2% milk in my oatmeal.

His fingers dangle over his plate as he leans forward looking at me. He takes a sip of coffee like he wants to make sure he's clear not like he's afraid.

"Next weekend. Let's try it together." His face is rigid. He's thought this through.

This fall, Nighthorse was sentenced, his plea agreement expedited the process. Hayden emails me when she gets an update from the US Attorney's office and Barlow is working out an agreement now that he is well enough to be released from the medical unit. So, our holding pattern has run the course of these two men, though I don't believe either one of us has named it.

It hasn't been a smooth road but we have managed to stay on it. Henry and Walt hit the trifecta, a rare occurrence I was assured, and they teamed up with Omar to hunt this year. When his tags came through we had our first serious fight but it was a Walt fight which meant not many words were exchanged. After three weeks of the silent treatment and my Italian temper he finally poured it all out. He stopped hunting after he and Martha were married because it meant more time away from her and from Cady. He grew to resent it but he never acknowledged it.

It's shit like this that will never work with us, you know taking out our unresolved bullshit out on each other, and slowly we've worked toward this point where here at our table at the Busy Bee he asks me to spend the weekend with him.

He runs his fingertips over my index finger and he smiles and it does things to me; things I fight not to acknowledge but things just the same and that makes it worse because I know what we have been missing. I don't have to guess. It's not a mystery. He is real. He's a fire breathing man and I miss him.

"You can't stand it anymore can you?" I tease because if I'm going to suffer so is he.

"It's more than that." He looks down, rubs his index finger under his still clean shaven jaw, but I think about it, Vic. I think about it all of the time."

"Me, too." I say and my eyelashes bat, they honest to God bat, and my face flushes and my smile gets big because now all of the defense mechanisms have kicked in.

He smiles a little bigger and his eyes drift like he is remembering and his face gets full.

"How do you want to do it?" I ask but it sounds flirtatious and that's not what I meant.

His face turns bright red.

"What I meant was what are your plans?" I clear my throat.

"I thought maybe you could spend the weekend with me at the cabin now that it's finished." He looks at me trying to read me, trying to put the pieces together, "or we could spend it at your place. I want you to be comfortable."

I look over at the nearly full restaurant trying to process the feelings I wasn't expecting to have this morning over oatmeal.

 _We have to make peace with ghosts._

"What is this for you?" Suddenly realizing just how serious his proposition is.

"A start for us, Vic. It's a real start in our real world."

The light shifts through the wood blinds catching the hazel flecks in his coral eyes.

"I'll pick you up around 6 on Friday after your shift. I'll even cook dinner for us. A couple of steaks, a couple of beers." And he smiles, again. He's thought about it and he wants it.

"No more best friends?"

"We'll always be that."

I look for everything to do and even volunteer to serve civil papers as an excuse not to be in the office or be on a call with him. It's juvenile, right. Yeah, I know but I'm nervous because the seriousness of this, of what we are doing, is life altering. I packed and repacked my bag about twenty times and still thought everything was wrong so I just left it.

 _Fuck it_. I think, this is too much fucking stress. It's not like we haven't slept together before. Hell, I know what we have been missing and it dawns upon me that's why I'm so nervous because I already know.

Walt struts into the office unexpectedly late Friday afternoon and his hair is cut, his face is super smooth, and as he strides by I catch it. I catch the woodsy musky smell of aftershave and my stomach knots. His left leg drags a half-beat the way it does, his index finger trails my desk, and he makes his way into his office and slams the door shut.

Ferg looks up at me, his dimples extra deep, and his smile extra wide.

"Shut it." I say pointing my pencil eraser at him.

His hands go up in surrender. "I didn't say a word."

He looks back down at his paperwork, "I didn't have to apparently."

I toss a wad of paper that lands square on his head and we exchange a welcome laugh.

"Joe says that Walt's a regular at the barbershop now." Ferg is a little serious.

"I suppose." I add.

"That's good." Ferg says and it is serious.

My cell phone rings and it's the station number.

"Hello."

"We still on?" That deep quiet reverberation of his voice fills my head.

"Yes."

"I'll see you at 1800"

"k."

I hang-up and offer an alibi without being asked, "Just a friend." And Ferg looks at me like I'm crazy because honestly I think he could care less but my behavior is suspicious whether I want it to be or not. I honestly have to get my shit together.

"I'm calling it a day. See you Monday, Ferg." I'm halfway out of the door before he gets out a see you later.

The hot shower and glass of wine is welcome and I put my bag by the front door like I'm headed to summer camp. I close my eyes and chastise myself for being nervous and for acting like an idiot. This isn't a mystery.

Of course he's early but by Walt standards he is right on time. He knocks on the door, though he still has a key, which he never uses. It's like it's off limits or maybe respectful.

He looks good and I hear my breath catch as the door opens all the way. His hair isn't quite dry, yet and he's wearing a new black button up shirt with white stitching and diamond shaped snaps. It's retro Johnny Cash but on his long lean frame it looks good and his third snap is undone and tonight standing under the porch light his sex just drips off of him and he looks like a pagan fertility god not like a 70's disco king trying to bring back the good old days.

"Hi." He says and he smiles.

"Hi." I say and as I smile my eyes line up with his belt buckle and I take a peek because I can't help it. The silver on his gig line matches the silver snaps. It's a natural progression I tell myself. It's by design.

"Your bag?" His deep voice whips me back to reality as his eyes look down my body in a very welcoming way and he doesn't bother to hide his approval.

I pick it up by instinct and he takes it from my hand. Our fingers brush and it seems like an extra-long time but it's not I think I just want it to be.

It's that uncomfortable silence on the ride to his place. The one where you curse yourself for being quiet then say something completely meaningless and stupid. Pretty quickly, I decide to opt for silence, because it's less chance of being followed by an apology.

When we hit the turn-off to his place he reaches over and takes my hand.

"Nothing is going to happen we don't want to, Vic. We are just hanging out, ok."

"Is this how you hang out with all your female friends?" Trying to be funny.

"You're my only one." He turns his head and winks and flashes that brilliant smile.

It is funny but it's also true. This tiny town is just that, it's tiny, and being with him brings all kinds of complications.

The Bronco lights hit the cabin and it's the first time I've seen it since the construction was finished. It looks just a little wider, nothing striking, except the porch is finished. The steps are in and to my complete surprise he hung three Chinese lanterns in the front.

"Walt, it's beautiful."

"I thought you would like the lanterns. I was thinking of you when I bought them."

"I love them."

He opens my door and grabs my bag. As we walk up the steps I see the table on the corner of the porch and realize that he wrapped the porch around to the extension.

"I thought we could eat outside."

The table is set and there's an unlit candle in a hurricane lamp.

"It's like 14 degrees, Walt."

"It's cold but it's clear and I got a heater."

He points up and there tucked under the rafter, on the inside lip of the overhang, is an electric heater that runs the girth of the patio.

"Bob knows a really good electrician and we wired up a lot of stuff. The heater was my idea and it works great when you flip on the ceiling fan it pumps out a tremendous amount of heat. It's pretty amazing. Henry thought of the copper fire pit, said it adds ambiance."

I nod my approval feeling like I have landed in an alternate universe.

"Good, I was hoping you would say, yes."

He opens the cabin door and waits for me to go in ahead, his hand gently falling to my lower back as he guides me inside.

It smells clean, like pine, like the country and the changes they are almost overwhelming.

"Walt, the cabin looks fantastic."

"Thanks, Vic. I've spent a lot of time getting things together. We got those bookcases done. That's my favorite restoration, I think. "

"You want the grand tour?"

"Yeah."

He takes my hand and walks toward the new extension, there are two bedrooms; one slightly larger with a shared Jack and Jill bathroom between them. "They get the morning light."

He puts my bag down in the larger bedroom and rubs his hands on his thighs in a bit of nervousness as he turns trying to read my reaction and there's not much that surprises me about him but this does.

"I read in this room, pointing to the smaller room. We put a murphy bed in the wall so it wouldn't feel like a bedroom but it is."

The overstuffed classic leather chair with the overhead reading lamp and built in bookcase screams of a Walt man-cave.

"I found my old record player and we monkeyed around and got it hooked up to this old receiver so I could play my records. Records I forgot I had." His face lights up like he has a great idea.

"Hey, do you like the Rolling Stones?"

"Who doesn't?"

He smiles and my legs get weak, weak like jelly. He puts on the record and turns it up.

"Nice thing about not having neighbors." And he rubs his hands on his thighs again and smiles that nervous smile and only then do I realize he's nutted up just like I am and that makes me feel better like I'm not the only one.

He walks past me, pressing his palms against my shoulders, as he turns sideways out of the doorway.

"The steaks are resting on the counter. I better get them on the grill. The potatoes are staying warm in the oven. I'm pretty hungry."

"Ok." I pause before he moves almost too embarrassed to say, "You didn't have to put me in the guest room. I mean…."

His face brightens just a bit as if he is surprised, "Oh, ah, I didn't explain. This is the master bedroom now. I made the other room the guest bedroom." His palms slide down my arms and land at my wrists, "This is about us. About our memories." He says just as his lips land on mine and they are soft and full and gentle. Every single pore in my body is on fire and I am pretty certain I am going to collapse.

"I think we should eat dinner." I say so I can recover.

I feel him, pressed against me, and I know he feels it too.

"Good idea." He says but he doesn't move like he can't walk and I think he has to get down from that cloud we are on.

I follow him into the kitchen, he washes his hands, and I can't help but see him again as if I am seeing him for the first time.

"Can I help?"

He looks up, sprinkling the salt on the steaks, "Yeah, grab the salad from the fridge and whatever dressing you want."

"I have a choice." I ask

"You always have." He says not talking about dressing.

"So have you." I say, confirming.

"I know. I made it." He's looking at me, his eyes frozen on mine, as the distance closes and I kiss him. It's not so slow and it's not so gentle and he returns in kind like he's been waiting far too long.

His fingers tangle in mine and his voice is super soft, "I'm gonna put these steaks on. Let's have our dinner date," and he's serious and I think how hard he's worked to make peace.

Dinner is perfect and it's filled with small smiles and simple blushes. I just finish my salted baked potato when he says, "I want you to be comfortable. I know it will take some time but you know I want you to be yourself here."

My fingers land on his, "This is a very good start." I say and his lips curl up, his face relieved. "I can't believe three guys came up with this." I look up and around noticing the flower boxes and the covered sofa and table on the other end of the porch.

"Cady helped a lot." He stirs the remnants of his steak around on his plate and his hand lands on the clothed covered table.

"Henry and I made the table underneath. One of his artist friends from the Rez hand painted a chessboard so Lucian and I can play out here. He spent a couple of nights with me and Cady this summer."

He looks off into the distance like he's remembering that specific feeling of forgiveness.

"It was nice spending the time with her. She picked out the linen, you know the feminine touches." His lips curl up in a moment of parental pride.

He leans his chest forward, his hand still holding his fork; his eyes move over toward me, "She's not opposed to the idea of you and me you know."

"She's just not for it you mean."

"You may be surprised. She likes you more than you think."

"That would surprise me."

"We have been spending college football Saturday's together just like when she was a girl and it has been the best part about getting my life together. That and spending Sunday's with you." He gives me that nervous half-smile.

"There's room for both of you in my life.

"I never thought of it like that before."

"Truthfully, neither did I until I realized how much pressure I was putting on myself and on us. You know moving too fast because I thought I was going to lose you."

"In all these Sunday's you never mentioned that before." I'm leaning forward closing the distance between us while delighting in the warmth from the heater and the fire pit.

"It's been a process."

"The hardest part is not being able to touch you like I've wanted to."

I smile and he licks his lips subconsciously, "For me too."

He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my lips so softly and I feel his lips part but it feels like slow motion and his tongue just brushes my lips. He doesn't move when he says, "I'm nervous like it's the first time." And he smiles and I feel it against my lips.

"I suppose it is a first of sorts." I say and he backs away gently pulling my wrist toward him and guides me into his lap and we make out on the porch filling each other with months of missing kisses and groans.

"God, I've missed this." I whisper in his ear my thighs are tight with longing.

"I don't ever want this to stop, again." His eyes are black like coal and the heat from his hand is burning through my jeans.

"Why would it?" I ask slightly teasing but slightly serious.

His grip tightens around me, "I'm serious, Vic." The vein in his neck throbs, the pulse evident in the candlelight.

I trace his eyebrows with my thumb and rest my hand against his pronounced cheekbone and super smooth skin. Our eyes lock in this fourth dimension and his words float up.

"I won't stop and start, again. Whatever comes we face it together by being together."

"I'm here, Walt." My fingers tremble against his jaw.

"It will mean late nights and not so regular romantic evenings but not being able to make love to you, Vic, that's something I won't do again."

"I'm ready to be loved." My hand falls and lands just above his heart.

"Are you?" He asks and it's serious like an interrogation and it means much more than he is saying.

"I won't be second place." It's what I've always wanted to say. It's how I've always felt.

"You're not."

I lean back just enough to refocus, he twines his fingers in mine over his heart, "Walt, I played second string to an oil company but I won't play second string to Absaroka County and I won't put you second, either. I don't want to make that mistake with you."

He looks past my shoulder and up and back around like he is really thinking about what to say.

"I'm gonna mess up sometimes." His voice gets a little higher and his finger rubs against the soft flesh at my side.

His eyes are full and exposed and tender, "I'm probably going to mess up more than you want me to but I know I love you and being in love with you means you're always first in my thoughts, Vic."

"But"

"But it means you have to tell me what you need and what you want so I can be the proper man for you. I don't want 30 years of guessing."

"Only 30?"

"I figured if I said 50 it would be reaching."

Neither of us smiles and his grip tightens as the heat rises to an inferno between us, "I'll split the difference." I say and as I lean forward he whispers, "I promise to love you until I die. I'll never stop."

It won't be flawless I think as we make love for the first time that marks the rest of our lives but nothing is and a lifetime of imperfection with him is worth fighting for.

That's our truth. Always has been.

* * *

 ** _Last Note: Enjoy Longmire Days and get lots of pix with my main man Robert Taylor._**

 ** _Complete_**


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